Harry Potter and the HalfBlood Prince
by puffed-up popinjay
Summary: Harry's 6th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his darkest year yet. Who can Harry trust? Who will turn? Who is the new Minister For Magic? Who is the DADA teacher? New prefects? New Romances? What mysteries will Harry's 6th year hold...


DICLAIMER: I don NOT own Harry Potter and his world. Harry belongs to the amazing author J.K. Rowling.

A skinny boy soon to be 16, with untamable jet-black hair sat on his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. His bespectacled, emerald green eyes moved swiftly side to side as he read The Daily Prophet, absentmindedly rubbing his slightly prickling lightning bolt scar.

Harry Potter narrowed his eyes and glared at the leering faces looking up at him from the front page:

Escape From Azkaban 

_"All known deatheaters have now escaped from Azkaban prison due to the massive amount of dementors outside of the Ministry's control. We must tell you to be on the lookout for these escaped murderers. Do NOT approach them under any circumstances, just contact us at the Ministry of Magic by placing your wand tip against any Daily prophet front cover to report a sighting..."_

He had known, of course, that it couldn't be long until they all broke out of prison. What, with no dementors and Lord Voldemort restored to his body, it was really only a matter of time-_CRASH_

Two official looking owls had just collided into his closed bedroom window. Seconds later, feathers ruffled, they reappeared and Harry let them in. They dropped two letters on his bed and swooped out the window. One of the letters read:

Mr. H. Potter

Smallest bedroom

Number 4 Privet Drive

Little Whining, Surrey

The third one read:

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

He opened the third envelope and read:

Charms-Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration- Exceeds Expectations

Herbology-Outstanding

DADA- Outstanding

Potions-Acceptable

Care of Magical Creatures- Outstanding

Astronomy-Acceptable

Divination-Dreadful

History of Magic-Poor

Harry's heart dropped. His ambition to be an auror as well as to avenge his dead godfather had just been crushed by his least favourite class: potions. He went on reading his usual Hogwarts letter glumly, but was stunned to read this:

Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the following NEWT classes:

Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and Potions...You will receive your annual Hogwarts letter containing your book list in two days time.

Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

What was she playing at? McGonagall said that Snape only allowed students who got Outstanding on OWLs, and what's that other letter? -CRASH

Once Again his thoughts were interrupted by a huge noise coming from the living room, closely followed by the Dursleys' terrified screams.

He heard two familiar voices, and smiled, the first true smile all month long.

"Harry! Harry, it's us, we're taking you to..." called one of his best friends, Hermione Granger.

"Oh, stop your whining Dursley," growled unmistakably Moody.

He picked up his trunk (he still hadn't unpacked), and dragged it and his feet down the stairs.

He reached the living room, which Dudley was currently running out of, as fast as his legs would carry him. Grinning, Harry entered and saw, first his Uncle and Aunt, glaring at him, and then Ron Weasley standing beside Hermione, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hi," he said smiling at his two best friends Hermione and Ron Weasley.

"Harry!" squealed Hermione giving him a huge hug while obscuring his vision by bushy brown hair.

"Hey Harry, try not to kill him Hermione," grinned Ron with his freckly face and the Weasley's infamous flaming red hair.

The fire turned green once again interrupting Ron and out fell soot covered Ginny Weasley, closely followed by two loud cracks, the Durleys screams and the appearance of Fred and George.

"I always have enjoyed muggle reactions to apparitions," smirked Fred.

The Dursleys shuffled quickly out of the living room, muttering something about what the neighbors would think if they were seen with such company.

George withdrew a piece of shabby cloth from his pocket. "Portkey," he said.

Everyone reached out to touch it and immediately, Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel, and they landed in a heap, where Harry had hoped to never stepfoot in again,on the dark, murky floor of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

A/N- Please Read and Review!


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